


Three Years Cold

by cywscross



Series: 100 Prompts Challenge [7]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series, The Fate of the Furious (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Don't copy to another site, During Canon, Extended Scene, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, Protective Siblings, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22937995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: Cipher reveals a little more when she gloats at Deckard.
Relationships: Deckard Shaw & Owen Shaw
Series: 100 Prompts Challenge [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542082
Comments: 7
Kudos: 142





	Three Years Cold

**Author's Note:**

> For the [100prompts challenge on DW](https://100prompts.dreamwidth.org/).
> 
> [**Prompt:** 024\. Protection](https://cywscross.dreamwidth.org/17140.html)

"Hello, Deckard. Nice to see you again." The thud of a boot against metal adds to the weight of the rubble pinning him down, followed by a mocking laugh. "Look at this, body's not even cold, Dom. Your family’s already replacing you."

Deckard scrambles enough focus together to glare up at the woman even as he struggles against the piece of wall on top of him. Toretto looms a few steps away, blank-faced and silent. Cipher only smiles, gloating like she's won, but the gun she points at him has no intent behind it, and Deckard will make sure she regrets this moment.

"You chose the losing team," She continues with a gleeful sort of relish like she's been waiting to say her piece to him. "I guess your brother _is_ smarter than you." She pauses a beat, and her smile widens. "Not that he had much of a choice. All I had to do was show him how many eyes I had on you and your sister, and he was practically falling over himself to volunteer for the job." She laughs again. "Who would've thought even an internationally wanted killer would have such a predictable weakness."

For an infinite second after that, Deckard goes still as stone. He barely notices the twitch of some internal recognition that flickers across Toretto’s face. Even the rattling pain of the concussion grenade fades to the background as Cipher's words echo through his head and the thunder of his own heartbeat roars in his ears. The realization cuts through him, cold enough to burn, and for a moment, he thinks he might even be able to power through the unyielding weight on top of him out of sheer rage alone.

The moment passes, Cipher walks off with one last taunting smile, and Deckard swears he'll rip it off her face if it's the last thing he does.

* * *

Owen smiles serenely as liberal explosions rock the facility and alarms blare in the distance, almost drowning out the panicked shouts and screams beneath them. He finishes picking the lock of the last set of cuffs binding him just as the door to his cell is wrenched open and artificial light pours in. He has to spare a few seconds to blink the spots out of his sight, but the next thing he knows, a familiar hand is cupping the back of his neck, and he only flinches a little when another presses briefly against the scarred side of his face.

"You and I are gonna have a very long chat when this is over," Deckard tells him, temper seething just under his skin even as the rest of him locks it down. "But for now, we have to get outta here. Can you walk?"

Owen scoffs and rises to his feet, shaking the chains from his limbs. He's a little stiff from inactivity, and nowhere near his former peak condition, but Deckard had killed enough guards and scared enough hospital staff that they'd done a proper job of overseeing his physio after he'd woken up from his coma. They'd only dared transfer him to this quaint little hole in the ground a full two years after Deckard had been imprisoned and - they'd presumed - unable to escape.

Joke's on them.

"After you, Deck," Owen smirks and gestures at the door with his usual flourish, and Deckard grumbles something two-parts exasperation and two-parts relief before shoving a gun and a couple knives at him.

"Stay behind me," Deckard orders, and because it's his brother, Owen obeys.

There's a lot of dead bodies outside. By the time they're both out and clear, one last bomb ensures there's nothing left but that.

* * *

They roll into the cargo hold and take a moment to get their bearings. Deckard keeps one eye on Owen, who's breathing a lot harder than he would've three years ago from a simple flight like that, and Deckard _told_ their mum that bringing Owen along for this was a bad idea but does she ever listen? Of course not.

Owen's also already cracking jokes about stealing the plane, because of course he is, goddamn it. He looks tenser than usual though, especially when he glances back at the now closed ramp.

Deckard's hands itch. He can't wait to catch up to Cipher.

"Okay, let's go, Scarface," He says instead, catching the dark amusement that curls briefly at one corner of Owen's mouth. He'll call it a win. "These arseholes ain't gonna kill themselves."

* * *

Deckard doesn't waste time exchanging insults. No, _this gun_ doesn't have any bullets left. But he'd brought an extra just in case.

One shot tags Cipher's shoulder and drops her. A second and third take out both her kneecaps, and her scream bounces through the room, equal parts fury and pain. Deckard's a bit sorry the baby has to see this but at least he can't hear anything and he shouldn't remember anything either.

"I've been waitin' a long time for this," He snarls, stalking around the center console to stare down at the woman who'd nearly gotten his brother killed. Blood's already pooling under her, and her porcelain features are twisted into an ugly grimace.

It's not enough. His little brother got tossed out a bloody plane and it's a fucking miracle he's alive at all. It's partly Toretto's fault, and - admittedly - partly Owen's own idiot self's fault, but Cipher gets the bulk of the blame, and nothing he does to her now is going to erase the coma or the scars or the year in the dark of that hellhole prison. He won't insult Owen by even thinking he won't get past it, but it's still a whole lot of trauma he wouldn't need to deal with if not for this woman.

Still, Deckard can at least make her hurt.

"You have a lot to answer for, Cipher. What you've put my family through." He crouches down beside her, and a flick of his wrist embeds a knife deep into her thigh. She howls, thrashing and clawing at him, but it's the work of a moment to yank out the knife again before flipping her over, wrists pinned none-too-gently behind her back.

"You have a lot of nerve," He hisses. "To not just use my brother to do your dirty work, but to use _me against my brother_. How _dare you_."

She laughs, a gurgling vaguely unhinged sound that only stops when Deckard slams her head against the floor.

"You should've kept a closer eye on him then, shouldn't you?" She gasps out, and if this was anyone else, Deckard might’ve even been a little impressed.

As it is, he responds with a very succinct knife through her palms, driving the blade straight into her back and leaving it there. Then he has to wait almost a minute for her to shut up. It's a mix of expletives and broken screaming, and he glances over at the baby to make sure the headphones are still secure.

"I'll kill you," She wheezes when she finally finds the coherency for it. " _I'll kill you_ , you won't get away with this, you bast-"

She breaks off into another strangled cry when Deckard twists the knife in her. Even if by some God-given miracle she escapes him today, she'll never walk again.

"What I wanna know," Deckard says conversationally as if she hadn’t spoken at all. "Is why you decided to blackmail Owen. I sure didn't get the same exclusive deal, and you didn't even try our sister. What, we didn’t rate the five-star treatment?"

But even as he says that, he's pretty sure he knows. Hattie's a dead-end; it's no secret - with a bit of digging - that she's more or less disowned her entire family, and even if she'd agreed, she simply wouldn't have had the necessary resources to pull it off. And Deckard. Deckard was Cipher's first choice, and she probably hadn't expected him to refuse. He does have a reputation for taking all sorts of unsavoury jobs after all, and she'd offered good money for it even. She probably hadn't even had a contingency plan when he'd turned her down flat.

But Owen. Owen was just the right combination of reckless and greedy and brilliant and easily bored, with a decent-sized helping of the good old Shaw familial devotion on top, to make him both perfect for the job and horribly susceptible to the bait-and-trap Cipher would've learned to prepare for him. As an extra bonus, she'd probably considered it petty vengeance against Deckard as well; he'd told her no so she'd gone after his brother instead.

Just the thought of it makes his blood boil, and he finds he has no more patience to listen to her talk.

"Right, we're done," He grunts before she has time to do more than hitch a smirk across her face as if he can't see right through her fast-depleting bravado. She falters, staring uncomprehendingly, and Deckard smiles.

Then he gets to work.

* * *

Owen sees his handiwork once the plane is on the ground and Deckard is texting Nobody to come pick up the trash. His little brother looks from Cipher's violently near-unrecognizable form to Deckard's blood-soaked gloves, and his face says he knows that Deckard knows the truth of it all. But he says nothing, ducking back inside instead to start piling all the other bodies together. He's not usually that helpful so it can't be anything but a delay to the imminent _conversation_ Deckard is definitely having with him, come hell or high water.

Nobody doesn't really say anything either when he sees the very dead mutilated mess at Deckard's feet. He raises his eyebrows and glances at Owen and looks as amused as he always does about everything, but he also clears them both of all charges so Deckard can’t be too annoyed. Of course, then the government stooge's men whisk the corpses away, and Deckard somehow gets stuck with bringing Toretto's baby back to the new father.

He sighs irritably. At least he has no plans to blow up the man's house this time.

* * *

It's not terrible. Not great either obviously, but they manage a civil conversation and even a handshake, and nobody tries to kill him so he doesn't have to kill anybody in return.

"Your brother," Toretto remarks, half his attention on his son, the other half lingering on Deckard. "Pitched me a whole song and dance 'bout family makin' me vulnerable."

Deckard looks from him to the rest of his little family scattered across the rooftop patio. "It does."

"Sometimes," Toretto acknowledges. "But he's exactly the same."

Deckard snorts. "He's a bloody moron but he's still a killer and a mercenary and exactly as ruthless as you've seen him. If you're smart, you won't ever forget that."

He pauses, and the sound of a car door opening and shutting comes from down below. Deckard's eyes narrow, then he lunges for the stone ledge, peering over it just in time to see Owen begin sauntering away down the street.

"Owen!" He barks. "I told you to keep your arse in the car! We're not done!"

Owen doesn't even look up, that _brat_. "I'm going for a coffee, Brother. You wouldn't believe how terribly lacking prison's accommodations are."

Deckard is going to kill him. Mum will understand. Eventually.

"I'm headin' out," He says abruptly, turning back to Toretto, who looks irritatingly amused. Hobbs too for that matter. Twinkle Toes has been watching him like a hawk the entire time, though not a particularly guarded one anymore. Deckard hasn't decided yet whether he's okay with this new development or not.

He looks at the baby last. Not even out of diapers yet and already as troublesome as the rest of this ridiculous family. He sighs. "Try to keep the kid outta trouble, Toretto."

He doesn't wait for a reply, and he doesn't bother with the stairs again. Drawn-out goodbyes aren't his style, and these people aren't _friends_. Besides, Owen's already at the corner.

Two steps and he's vaulting over the ledge. The side of the building takes no effort to scale, with more than enough windows and even a sturdy pipe to act as handholds. He's back on the ground in seconds and behind the wheel of his car a moment later. He peels away from the curb and cuts in front of Owen just as he steps off the sidewalk.

"Get in the fucking car," He says flatly.

Owen stares at him, oddly stiff in the way he's holding himself, casual with a fighter's fluid grace but all of it just the slightest bit forced.

Deckard opens the passenger door. Owen sighs and gets in the fucking car.

* * *

They get coffee because Owen is a brat and Deckard is a bloody pushover. Scones too because they're hungry, and Deckard watches scarred fingers rip pieces off the pastry.

"I probably would've said yes anyway," Owen tells him, breaking the silence, words light as air. "You know how I get."

Deckard scowls because yes he does, but also that's not the point here. "You should've called me."

Owen hums distractedly, and Deckard's temper surges, one fist coming up to smack against the steering wheel. Owen remains infuriatingly calm, even when Deckard reaches over and hauls him in by the collar of his shirt.

"If there's ever a next time, you'll call me," He snarls, giving his brother a rough shake for good measure. "I don't care if they tell you they've got a dozen snipers or an army of assassins or a goddamn heatseeker on me. Or Hattie. You call me and I'll deal with it. Am I clear?"

Owen blinks once, slowly, and his eyes glitter with something satisfied and smug and thrilled, the way he is every time Deckard steps in to beat the shit out of anyone who thinks they can take advantage of his brother. Even when it's at least half his brother's fault to begin with.

Deckard growls irritably and shoves Owen back into his seat. "Every fucking time."

"I thought I could handle it," Owen says, and Deckard almost does a double-take because the fact that Owen's admitted even that much is a miracle in and of itself. His brother smiles, one side sharper than the other, where the scars drag his muscles down just enough to notice. "And it _was_ fun. To a point."

Deckard scoffs and shakes his head. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

"You've been saying that since I was five."

"You've been gettin' neck-deep in trouble since you were five. Mum's biggest mistake was lettin' you outta the house."

"And yet," Owen smirks, just the slightest bit lopsided, and Deckard wants to punch him _and_ Toretto _and_ resurrect Cipher just to kill her all over again, all at the same time. "Still kicking."

Deckard heaves a resigned sigh and shuts his eyes for a moment.

"…I'll call you."

He opens them again and finds Owen turned away, attention on something out the window, but he turns back seconds later to meet Deckard's gaze evenly before dropping his own, chin tucked, silent.

It's the closest to an apology Owen will ever give to anyone, and Deckard thinks he even means it, something in him just the slightest bit humbled for the very first time in his life. But then this whole clusterfuck was also the first time Deckard's ever cut a bloody swath across half the globe and then spent the next three years in maximum security, all for Owen. Not that Deckard regrets it, he’d do a lot more than murder sprees and prison time for his family, but it’s been a fucking long three years.

So some humility is good. It might even make Owen less prone to playing his little games.

It also doesn't suit him at all.

Deckard groans under his breath, and then reaches out to smack his brother upside the head.

"You're supposed to be the smart one," Deckard snaps crossly as he goes to start the car. "Land yourself in a hospital bed again and I'll kick your arse right back into it the moment you can stand."

Owen's gaze darts up again, half a hair from startled. And then he chuckles and relaxes, and here, sitting beside Deckard with no one else around, it's the first time since Deckard broke him out of jail that he doesn't look one wrong move from killing someone or disappearing the first chance he gets.

"Right then," Deckard says briskly. "Mum wants to see you post haste, so that's where we're going." He snorts at the face Owen pulls. "Suck it up, Little Brother. You're due a visit, and I ain't fishin' you outta this one."

They pull onto the street and turn onto the nearest highway, quickly picking up speed. Deckard doesn't doubt Owen will find his way back into trouble sooner or later, but for now, he's free, his brother's free, and nothing matters but that.


End file.
